This isn’t a normal life. It isn’t an easy life. Those of you who read my blogs and the blogs of other racers out there may think that the World Race is a cool missions trip, full of healings, ushering in people joining the kingdom, playing with some children in a village, or building some sort of structure. I have done all of these things, yes, and it is a really freakin’ awesome missions trip. But there is so much that you never hear. The World Race isn’t all glamour. It’s not sweet gopro bungee jumping, mountain top worship sessions, or seeing a bunch of orphans accept Christ. All that happens, and is awesome, but the real Race, the race that currently twelve squads are a part of, is something more than we can describe on Facebook, twitter, or instagram. Often times, it’s the things that you don’t see that make the Race what it is.
What you don’t see is the eighty-seven hours of travel we had between El Salvador and Bulgaria, when half of the squad flew to D.C. In the morning, and the other half in the evening, and then we all ended up getting stuck in the airport in Albania overnight and on a street corner the next day, then rode an overnight techno bus to Sophia, Bulgaria, where we waited for seven hours to catch a train to our city. You don’t see the seventeen times I have bawled my eyes out, including in front of all the parents on the Parent Vision Trip. You don’t hear about the internal conflict within teams. You don’t see the four times I’ve barfed, like the time I clambered over Lacey J. in order to reach the window after watching The Lord of the Rings on a winding Guatemalan mountain road. You don’t see the time God restored my relationship with my family, even though none of us knew it was broken. You don’t see how I need to be a big brother that I never was to my little sister. You didn’t see the hundreds of homeless men, women, and children that slept shoulder to shoulder in the open in the second most dangerous city in the world, and how I was fighting back tears as I walked along, handing them salsa to go with their papusas. You don’t see the conversations that God has put on my heart to have when I get home (although some of you will). You don’t see the joy in they eyes of African children as they play with a soccer ball made from trash. You don’t see the change and freedom from the past brought about by being vulnerable with the people you live with, your family for a year. You don’t see the reports we have to fill out every time we get sick or there’s a safety incident (speaking of which, C-Squad…)
Because it’s not the “good stuff”. It’s not what we racers want or think our readers want or need to hear.
The Race is hard. It truly is. It is not something that we simply do. It’s something we live. We try to fluff it up and make it pretty, posting pictures representing the Denver Broncos in front of the Coliseum on a roman layover (guilty), or making our cover photo the squad gathered around all the poop we just shoveled for Jesus (and George). There are things that our blogs simply won’t do justice, because in writing it out, it loses some of the emotion behind it.
So for all of you who are eagerly awaiting the return of your racer friends and family, dig in deep. Don’t ask how their year was. None of us will answer that. Find out the things that weren’t written in blogs or popped up in instagram. Take the time to learn what it was like. Take the time to see God in our stories. Because he is there. He always is. He always will be.
Peace and hope from Mae Sot, Thailand
Today’s worship time revelation:
Psalm 18:1-2.
God is fighting a war for your heart and soul, and he will never let go.
